Original subtitles

I have been asked by General de Gaulle to find a way to get French paratroopers

involved in missions with a British unit.

I've already chosen my officers.

So far in this war, I've killed 21 men, so in fact you can call me 21.

- Next. - Do you play the piano, Paddy?

Eoin was trying to teach me.

I say. Let the games begin.

What is it about Stirling that you dislike so much?

I invented the SAS.

He had no right to destroy it on its first mission.

Eoin!

Only the dreamer and the mad man left.

I have 20 of the toughest,

finest paratroopers in the French Army under my command.

This was my idea.

And everything up until then has been part of a strategy.

You would only have to spare one man.

Somebody left behind at Jalo to train the free French in desert warfare.

I've decided it has to be you.

So I stay in Jalo while you continue to go out on missions?

So the loser finds a way to win.

Based on a true story,

the events depicted which seem most unbelievable

are mostly true.

CYRENAICA, LIBYA JALO

MAY 1942

Two trucks.

Now I would suggest that we form up into ranks

and straight lines for a formal military greeting

with salutes and all that wonderful nonsense, but

that would give them a rather false impression of who we are.

Hey, sir, will they wanna share our Hashish like?

- Offer it only if asked. - Do we raise their flag?

- Their... have we got it? - Yeah, I made one.

I bought some coloured bed sheets in a brothel in Cairo.

Visiting the mother was you, Riley?

Well, if you've made one,

raise it.

I thought the French flag was all white.

Okay, all of you, when the free French arrive,

there will be no infantile abuse or counterproductive stereotyping

for any reason whatsoever.

Even if it transpires that the unwashed, French bastards deserve it.

Besides, insults would be unwise, even light-hearted ones.

I have it on very good authority that they... are a rough lot.

Yeah!

For god sake, this is Paddy Mayne's welcoming party,

where the bloody hell is he?

Here's the mad bastard.

French men at 500 yards, sir.

There is a man among them called Augustin Jordan,

he is a poet and he's killed more German's than all of us put together.

Now, I gave my word that we would unfasten their leashes and let them fight.

Rommel's airstrips are now heavily defended.

Men like Jordan are men like us and they've lost their country.

It would be rather unsporting to kill him at 500 yards.

400!

Perhaps, instead, you should read poetry to one another

and then wrestle naked in the sand

to see which of you is a finer spartan warrior.

Never wrestle naked in the sand.

Sand under the foreskin

is one of the most painful medical conditions imaginable.

Have you been drinking?

Aye.

And are you going to at least be polite?

The last French words I heard were...

PLESE DON'T SHOOT

I was very polite.

I said... I'M VERY SORRY.

I'M AFRAID I HAVE TO.

ROGUE HEROES

Company, follow monsieur.

Company...

Paddy, perhaps you would like to inspect your men.

This is Lieutenant Zirnheld, former paratrooper.

This is soldier X, real name unknown.

Ex-Foreign Legion.

We call him la vinasse Grapes.

'Cause he drinks wine instead of water.

La vinasse.

Grapes.

How many of your men do not remember their own names?

Most of my men speak no English at all.

- Well, actually, Paddy speaks French. - No, he fucking doesn't.

Paddy speaks dog and your men speak dog. So

we will communicate as dogs.

This is one man that knows his name,

Sergeant Essner, ex-Foreign Legion.

He joined the adventure before the war began.

And he's German. He is invaluable at road blocks.

We have German uniforms in our truck

and four of my men are fluent in German but Sergeant Essner's the real thing.

Mr. Real thing...

How real are you, Sergeant Essner?

I am a real soldier.

I despise the French,

but I fucking hate Germans.

You are a German

in a Frenchman's uniform,

nothing but a turncoat.

Expect to be isolated by my contempt.

Yes, sir.

Actually,

there are two of us.

I am Corporal Bruckner. I am German too.

They came as a pair.

That's fucking brilliant.

Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Deutsch.

What the fuck is that?

This is Aspirant Halevy.

He speaks German as well.

He is Jewish and his entire family, including his two children,

were taken to the camps.

He has made a vow to kill as many Nazis as he can.

I am a hand grenade, sir.

Pull the pin, throw me where the enemy's most numerous.

We have use for men like him, Paddy.

Fair play.

Show me to the philosopher.

You'd know Augustin Jordan,

my second in command, winner of the Croix de Guerre

and former professor of philosophy at La Sorbonne.

Sir.

I hear you're a poet.

The eyes

of a familiar compound ghost,

both intimate,

and unidentifiable.

I find T.S. Eliot rather dull.

Not a debate worth getting sand under the foreskin for, one might imagine.

Parade dismissed.

Well, this is going to be rather fun, isn't it?

While you're settling in,

I'm going to be taking my men on a little jolly up country.

What's a jolly?

Halt! German up front.

Jesus Christ, it's okay. It's okay. The truck is ours.

It was stolen to order by our friend here at the LRDG,

the intelligence boys took it, they painted it up

and put the German vehicle identity code on the roof.

We're going to be using it with us tonight.

- There's someone down there, sir. - Oh, yeah.

Yes.

On tonight's jolly,

we're going to be taking a guest with us.

His first name is Randolph, his second name is Churchill.

Blimey. Fuck me.

His father, Winston, has heard about us and wants to know more, so

he's sent his son along to join in the fun.

But please, feel free to treat him as badly as you treat everyone else.

Too right, sir.

Company.

Stand easy.

We will begin your training regime this morning

with a wee competition.

You will divide into two groups

and use these poles

and these planks... to build two scaffolds 30 feet high.

There are hammers, nails and screws

but no plan,

so you will have to use your initiative.

Is there a French word for initiative?

The first team to build a scaffold 30 feet high which a man can climb,

will be the winners.

We'll devide into two teams and build two towers.

The first team to finish a tower wins.

How do we divide?

Germans, Jews, non-French Legionnaires against the French.

No, we do not divide ourselves that way.

I have just divided you in that way.

Ok, French on one side,

the Jews, the Germans, and the other non-French in the second teams.

Any more questions?

Well, there fucking should be a question.

Why are you asking us to build two scaffolds, 30 feet high,

in the middle of the fucking desert?

We're trained not to question orders. We're trained to carry them out.

Lesson number one, on morning number one,

you must ask why.

Why?

Very fucking good.

- Sharp. - Yeah.

You must ask why

because if you know why you are carrying out your mission,

when things fuck up,

as they inevitably will,

you will know how to achieve

what you set out to achieve

in a different way.

In your own way.

So why are we building two towers, 30 feet high,

in the middle of the desert?

Because when they are built, you are gonna climb them

and jump off them.

While you are carrying out this test of teamwork, initiative and stamina,

I'm gonna be up there on that ridge.

- Observing? - No.

- I'm gonna be shooting at you. - You'll be what?

Aye, I'll be shooting at you with live ammunition.

It'll be up to you to avoid my bullets.

I see evidence of slacking or shirking,

that really does get my goat and I might just decide to wing the culprit.

But, most of all, I'll be shooting at you by way of encouragement.

As a general rule, I'll be shooting at anybody who stands still,

so don't... stand still.

This Irish clown says he is going to be shooting at us for extra motivation.

If any of you feel like this is all a wee bit unfair,

fucking please feel free to try and do something about it.

Divide up and get to work.

The French with me. Grab some poles and bolts and follow me.

Grapes, you take the others. Halévy, go with the Germans.

Be warned, when I pulled up that bucket earlier, there was a frog in it.

Now then, she's a truck, treat her like a horse not a kitten,

and you're Italian, drive like one.

What does that mean?

Green means go, amber means accelerate,

red means accelerate and honk your horn.

I thought we were supposed to be in the African hall.

When in Rome, Cooper.

Be careful with him, David.

Yes, jolly good.

So, you're going to just drive into Benghazi and plant the explosives?

Yes, that's the plan.

I like plans that can be explained with one breath.

Benghazi is Rommel's doorway to the Mediterranean.

We're going to blow that door off its hinges.

You'll be able to tell your father, victory is spelt S.A.S.

How will we get to Benghazi?

War is mostly chaos with random explosions,

bits of heroism and lots of self-preservation.

Most of the time soldiers have no fucking idea what's going on.

Italian checkpoints are manned by boys and shopkeepers.

- Aren't you gonna shave? - No. No point.

All you need to get past them is arrogance,

a few German uniforms and parachuters, Cooper,

who speaks Italian as well as your average Nazi.

The Italians will assume we're trusty German allies.

And if that doesn't work, well then you just

open fire.

Next time we're in an oasis and you pull up a frog, keep it,

share it with the group.

Bully beef can get terribly monotonous.

Do you want me to kill that son of a bitch?

Maybe mater.

I have you. Get on your feet, put your hands in the air.

Fuck.

Fuck off.

- I don't believe you. - Don't believe me?

No.

I expected better from you.

My commanding officer has some idea that you and I are similar.

A shared love

of poetry

and philosophy. I wonder

if it's something more than that.

Perhaps... we should find out.

What say you, professor? One go each.

I say you're fucking insane.

Yee, who philosophise on life and death.

You are now looking at the real thing,

in this moment...

Stop.

Man!

You're up.

I offer you a moment.

I have a wife

and a child.

I save my bullets for the enemy.

We're here to defeat fascism, not play your games.

I cannot believe you just risked your life for no reason.

I told you the reason.

You do this purely to discover that I'm not you.

- Yep. - That's it.

Yep.

And listen, since I have stopped firing bullets,

your men have stopped working.

Work! Back to work everyone!

Lesson learned about men and the motivation of men.

Fuck.

See, monsieur Jordan,

S.A.S training is mostly about what is in here.

Now get back to work.

Do the same. Just in case we have to go out with a bang.

- How's the old man? - You know, he's... keeping busy.

Yeah.

Just think, if in two minutes time we all get a bullet in the head,

it'll be your name on the front of the newspapers

and we'll all be but a footnote.

Rather amusing.

- Fuck. - No, no, that's good, we're in luck.

A Dandy, even more good luck. Tell him I have to shit, I've got dysentery.

- Papers! - Good day!

We were in two trucks. One got hit by the RAF.

Our papers were in there, they got burned.

- What is he doing? - It's dysentry. He needs to shit.

- Let him go behind your cabin. - No way. No, no.

It's just water and blood coming out now.

Absolutely not!

Just chek the identification number on the roof.

Hurry! I don't want him to shit in the truck.

Please!

There is no number. Wanna explain that to the Gestapo?

Shit!

Wipe away the sand. The number might be covered up by the sand.

There is no number on the roof.

He really has to shit.

Please!

- Go, just go. - Thank you.

Right, well, they forgot to put the fucking numbers on the roof.

It was Dudley Clarke's job to sort that out.

Cooper, you're driving on the bloody English side of the road, get over.

Jesus bloody Christ.

Looks like you might make the front pages of the newspapers after all.

Turn left up here, let's see if they follow.

Don't indicate.

When was the last time you saw an Italian soldier indicate before he turned?

I thought we're supposed to be Germans.

Shut up, Cooper. Don't you fucking dare look around.

Cooper.

Shit.

Sorry, sir.

Right, come on. Cooper!

Turn left up here.

They follow us,

we open fire.

Fuck. It's a dead end, sir.

Bloody hell.

Right, two hours to relax before dark, gentlemen.

Monsieur!

On my command!

Down! The Free French! United, never devided!

No one divides us, Lieutenant Mayne.

Just like meat, next to the bone is best, life close to death

is truly fucking magnificent.

Before you jump, do you have a question?

- Why? - Why are we jumping?

Because why the fuck not?

Go!

Stand by.

Go!

Pathetic. Go.

Go!

Very fucking good.

Go!

- Pathetic. - Why not?

Fucking move on.

Oh, fucking hell,

Tweedle fucking Deutsch.

It's the real thing.

Let's have a good look at you.

- Go. - Why the fuck not?

Fucking useless.

Hey, mate. Go.

Go.

Like a sack of shite.

That's fucking diabolical.

Go. Go. Go. Go. Go.

Stand by.

Go.

Go.

That is a fucking order.

Enough!

Fuck sake.

Absolutely no chance.

Get that out of the way now.

That is a fucking order.

Think of your wife.

Think of your children.

They are watching you.

Think about them.

Forgive me my love.

Forgive me Werner, forgive me Anna for not protecting you.

Please know I will never forgive them.

Why not!

He did it.

He did it.

Listen up, chaps.

Prime the 30 minute fuses.

Riley,

you and Jim head for the petrol dumps round there.

Seekings, you take Cooper and eradicate that harbour.

Churchill, I should hope you've got your swimming cap.

Rendezvous back here 27 minutes.

Go.

Right.

Go.

- Stop! - Shit.

What's going on? What are you doing?

I don't know any Italian.

Do you know any German?

What were you doing near those boats?

We have to convince them that we're Germans.

- Answer me or I open fire! - Try it.

What light shineth there? Dawneth the day so soon?

- You are German? - Yeah. Dawneth the day so soon?

What light shineth there?

Don't move!

Run.

Catch.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, shit.

This truck has no code on the roof!

All right, move it. On the truck. Fuckin' move it.

How the fuck are we going to get out of here now?

- How long, Jim? - We have about four minutes.

Where the fuck is Stirling?

Okay, one more minute, then we leave them behind.

What the fuck is he doing?

There's no point hiding. Stand up straight. Walk with us.

They've set up road blocks.

Okay, Cooper, let's try something new.

Halt! Paper!

- It's ok. The security drill is over. - What security drill?

German High Command is testing Italian security.

- German officers don't have beards! - We are engineers.

All Germans have been told it's a drill, but not the Italians.

- There were gunshots. - Some Italians thought it was real.

Do your line.

What light shineth there? Dawneth the day so soon?

There will be insectors coming soon.

They will check how you respond to the siren.

Twenty seconds.

Button your top buttons. You know what Germans are like.

And no matter what bullshit they give you,

do not let them pass without papers.

- Thank you! - Don't mention it.

Stop them!

They're looking for Germans with beards.

Yes, on reflection, terrible idea not to shave.

Fuck it.

Hey.

Now, when exiting a city,

especially one where you have created a good deal of chaos,

your approach to checkpoints can be much less subtle.

I'm now 25.

Twenty-six!

So what will you say to your father when we get back to London?

I will say holy, holy, holy fuck.

You don't want to join us?

I'm only staying to make sure you don't damage any of our property.

Your men are very drunk.

You know, you make me curious. Don't you have anyone back in England?

Nobody in England, no, I'm Irish.

And in Ireland I have a mother.

Why do you ask?

What you did today

I wondered if you'd do that if you loved someone.

We British don't have these pointless conversations.

But, in my opinion,

loving somebody can make you too fond of life, which

can turn you into a coward.

A coward?

How so?

My friend, they're just playing.

It's just a piano.

Play louder little Jew!

Your wee loyal German sounds like a Nazi to me.

Now the Jew will play with his arse.

Paddy!

You Nazi rat.

Touch that piano again. Get 'em off!

Calm down, Pad.

- Captain Mayne. - Get out.

Captain Mayne

whatever is the cause of your pain,

you have my deepest sympathy.

I can hear it but I don't believe it.

- What the... - Couple of souvenirs from Benghazi.

What's left of it.

I sent you out there in an Opel Blitz

and you come back in a fucking pram and a hand cart.

Bollocks.

There is a rumour going around in Cairo

that Winston Churchill's son went on a mission behind enemy lines

with the SAS.

Of course, no one but a fool like me would believe such a rumour.

Mr. Churchill. How was your trip?

Bit of sightseeing.

How the hell did you manage to hitch a ride with my driver?

She has friends in very high places.

I would like to speak to Mr. Churchill.

I have a message for him to give to his father.

Randolph, may I introduce you

to a single cause walking on two legs with a single goal

then many, many strategies for achieving it.

In London,

the British Prime Minister tends not to take General de Gaulle's calls.

I thought I'd try another method of getting his attention.

Well, you certainly have my attention.

Well, permission denied, Randy.

And perhaps, Miss Man sour, you would come with me and explain

exactly how you managed to get a hold of such confidential information.

Your journey was wasted.

Who told you he was being picked up here?

Dudley Clarke.

The other reason I came was to see how you were.

- Thank you. - For what?

For not smelling of blood or petrol.

I'm sorry.

It takes me a while to get back to normal.

Before I go, I take these

amphetamines,

when I get back, I take barbiturates,

I am myself

in-between.

But.

I'm not in-between quite yet.

How long?

About an hour after sunset,

I will stop shaking and then about an hour after that, I will stop

hearing explosions.

May I stay for that?

How was Cairo?

When the wind blows from the West,

you can hear Rommel's Panzer divisions training at the leash.

But also buzzing with talk about the rogue heroes of the S.A.S

and the phantom major who leads them.

And how is Dudley Clarke responding to all the glory?

It seems he's inpatient for your destruction.

The trucks we were given by intelligence

for our attack on Benghazi had no code numbers on the roof.

We were sent out as sitting ducks.

As head of French Intelligence, Cairo,

I'm officially warning you to be aware of your intelligence operatives.

They do not all mean you well.

So, you see, I'm not just devoted to one cause,

I'm also concerned for you.

Did I hear... Head of French Intelligence, Cairo?

I reported my boss for being a drunk.

For the good of France, I do bad things.

Oh, God.

You're quite a number, aren't you?

What is a number?

Now as a general rule, I avoid possession and being possessed,

so please do not waste your concern on me, I am sorry,

your life is no business of mine.

You can make it your business.

Why the fuck are they not training?

Oh, dear.

Yeah.

My men have refused to work under Captain Mayne's command.

My men have decided that he's a mad man.

Two of them have broken jaws,

one has three broken ribs

and among the broken barrels on the floor, you'll find several teeth.

Alright, I will speak to him.

He needs to be put in a fucking cage.

- Destroy many planes? - Two boats.

- We're counting boats now, are we? - Yes.

I knew you would make a fucking useless training officer.

I knew you were... deeply unsuited to the task.

So why did you do it then?

I did it because you were proving to be

a more effective commanding officer than me.

I did it to win the game, there it is.

If this is some kind of double bluff, I'm telling you it isn't very smart.

It's the truth.

My father taught me to win at everything, in any way possible.

- Who shot the gazelle? - It was that or a Frenchman.

- Why did you fight them? - Because they're French.

So it's your daddy's fault?

Yes. Because of my daddy

I already feel the urgent need to shoot a gazelle to match you.

- So go fucking shoot one then. - Apologise to the Frenchmen.

No fucking chance.

There's a herd of gazelle

two miles from here. Go get it out of your system.

I blame my father, what's your excuse for being such a mad fucker?

I don't need a fucking excuse.

Right, well one night, someone's going to come in here

and they're gonna slit your throat.

They are welcome to try.

What sort of boats?

Torpedo boats.

Yes, and half the harbour, what a shame you missed it.

And you're serious about the gazelle?

Yes.

You want to shoot one, you need to shoot a gazelle?

- Yes. - Good.

'Cause they've probably all fucked off now anyway.

You mad Irish cunt.

The use of Irish as an adjective

is very provoking.

Yeah, so we go to it, you and me in the sand, come on.

- I would beat you to death. - I would pull a knife.

I'd take your knife from you, cut off your balls and stir them into a Bloody Mary

which I would then force feed down your Jacobean throat.

You need to forget about Eoin McGonigal.

There...

That was me pulling a knife.

It's best for you to leave this tent right now.

No.

I know you went to find him to bury him properly, well now you must

bury him in your head.

No one can bear undeclared grief, Paddy. Now.

I am going to relieve you of your training duties.

I didn't find his body.

I didn't find his body.

I know.

Paddy,

Churchill's son turned up as promised.

He came with us, he was very impressed.

He will lobby for us with his father. Also, we are apparently

the talk of Cairo.

Now is our moment.

I'm going to ask GHQ for jeeps,

Vickers machine guns, ammunition, explosives, more men.

The war is in the balance.

We can change the course of it while you

sulk like Achilles in your tent.

I'll not apologise

but you can tell the Frenchmen that I shot that gazelle for them

and that I will roast it on a fire and share the meat with them.

I am gradually coming round to the notion that they might actually be good men.

All our men are good men,

they just have the misfortune to be led by us.

Come on,

I'll help you cook this fucking thing.

Soldiers of the Special Air Service,

dinner is ready!

Let's eat!

- Come on, boys. - Come on.

To our future jollies together and the defeat of fascism.

Why don't you pretend to be bloody civilised and get in a line.

Right, that's the only...

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